


And All For Love

by Gimmemore



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Generations (1994)
Genre: Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Unrequited Romantic Love, Last Requests, M/M, Memories, Post-Star Trek: Generations, Triumvirate Feels, Vulcan Mind Melds, dealing with death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:59:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmemore/pseuds/Gimmemore
Summary: Spock has been summoned to say goodbye to an old friend.  While there, an unusual and surprising request is made.  Spock must decide whether to accept what has been offered or refuse a dying friend.Setting is the year 2371, about three years after the TNG episodes: Unification I&II (about 78 years post Star Trek: Generations prologue, aka the movie that doesn't exist), or alternatively, the same year Kirk left the Nexus to help Picard in same non-existent movie.





	And All For Love

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by two songs, “All For Love” by Bryan Adams with Rod Stewart and Sting (theme to the movie _Three Musketeers_ (1993)). Triumvirate anyone? :) And “Who Wants to Live Forever” by Queen, which of course, has Spock feels in so many ways. (Forever in this case being the full potential of the additional years that his Vulcan heritage bestowed, outliving all those he loved.)
> 
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

Spock neared the old farmhouse as dusk exploded in a myriad swirling of oranges, pinks, and purples, painting the sky in beauty; a stark contrast to the grim purpose of his visit.  It had been more than a decade since he’d stepped on these grounds, and although the land and the dwelling had not significantly changed, he had.  It had been before: before his secret exile in an attempt at reunification, before his mother’s death, before his father’s, before Picard’s communication confirming the shattering of his world once again.

Now, being here, he hesitated to go inside.  He felt pinned, restrained by an invisible force pressing against him, belaying his somatic synapses, and preventing him from exiting the hovercraft.  He heard all the years of Vulcan teachings berate him, the repetition of _illogical_ ricocheting against the walls of his mind.  Death was not to be feared.  It was simply the predetermined outcome of coming to be, of existing, of living; as intrinsically a part of life as life itself.  And but for rare exceptions, inescapable.

But it was not only the imminent death awaiting his presence that had Spock’s mind in disorder.

Vulcans, for all their privacy and perceived aloofness, desired and needed constant mental contact; bonds to tie and ground them, an underlying hum of connectedness that soothed and provided solace.  But for Spock, all those bonds, save one, had been severed.  Within the last five years, he had lost the oldest of his bonds when each of his parents died.  The wrenching and breaking of his _t’hy’la_ and martial bond had cost him dearly, but it had nearly cost him his sanity when, after over seventy-seven years of silence, it flared back to life, only to be ripped away once again.

The growing emptiness, the aloneness within his own mind, was disconcerting.

Spock closed his eyes and with several deep, cleansing breaths, attempted to contain the swirling melancholy.  When he opened his eyes, he found his right hand clutching the trinket hidden beneath his robes – an unconscious habit which seemed to present itself with alarming frequency the further he aged.  Though the pendant was small, at times, it seemed to possess a disproportionate weight; a weight that with each passing year seemed heavier to bear, ever a reminder of the decades spent without Jim.  But then, in other moments, it remained one of the rare comforts to his soul; a reminder that he had been valued and deemed worthy of being loved.

He was drawn out of his contemplation when he felt a panicked tug within his mind, a desperation and worry not his own, seeping into his consciousness.  He could not afford to linger any longer.  With a small intake of breath, he stepped out of the hovercraft, closed the door, and walked the short distance to the front porch.

Before he had a chance to engage the security bioscanner and announce his presence, the door was thrown open.

“Uncle Spock!  I was worried you wouldn’t make it!”

Even at one hundred twenty-two years old, Joanna reminded Spock of the vibrant child she had been, particularly as she left the door ajar to fling herself into his arms.  It was something she had often done to each of them when he and Jim would visit.  He gingerly placed one hand on her back, lightly cupping the back of her head with the other. 

Though he was cognizant that almost every Vulcan he knew would fervently eschew the contact, Spock had long ago accepted this human trait for what it was: a form of connectedness, a comfort, a conveyance of sentiments not entirely dissimilar in need to Vulcan bonds.  Furthermore, it was something he had come to treasure in the years spent in the presence of Jim’s ever tactile nature, and though he could never speak such sentiment aloud, something he dearly missed.  Through the contact, he could sense her grief batter against his shields, feeling it overwhelm her as her body quivered with quiet sobs.

“I – I know it’s…it’s not rational,” she stammered.  “He’s had such a long, full life.  More time than so many.  More than….”

Spock’s heart thudded painfully in his side, his muscles tightening in preparation to hear the utterance of _Uncle Jim_ spoken through tears, but Joanna breathed deep, squeezing him lightly.

“But it just…it always hurts so much when it’s someone you love.”  She looked up at him.  Spock watched as her blue eyes, so much like her father’s, filled again and again, tears cascading down her cheeks.

He spoke gently, quietly.  “It is never easy to lose those we cherish.  It is an experience that all who live must endure.  And one that we will impose upon those that remain after us.”

Joanna sniffled and nodded faintly.  She slowly stepped back, endeavoring to regain composure while wiping the tears from her face.  A few moments later, Spock felt the mental tug again, stronger and more urgent.  This time, he heard the words that accompanied it.  Hoarse, gravelly, and weaker than he’d ever heard it, McCoy’s voice drifted through the open door.

“I know you’re here, Spock.  I can feel you.”  Wheezing and coughing followed, the sounds of sickness permeating the air.  “It’s rude…to keep a dying man waiting.”

Many months after Spock’s _fal-tor-pan_ , while the Enterprise was on a particularly precarious away mission, McCoy had been severely injured.  The spike in Leonard’s pain and stress had flooded across the unknown bond and Spock panicked.  He had thought the distinctly human emotions bleeding through were Jim’s and that he was the one injured.  But once it was reported Jim was unharmed (a rare occurrence in and of itself), Spock quickly deduced the only other possibility in enough time use the link to aid in the rescue of the good doctor.  Later, several scans and a mind meld confirmed the familial bond, and although it was shielded most of the time, when in such close proximity, their awareness of each other was amplified.

With no desire to agitate McCoy further, Spock started forward, but Joanna placed a hand on his arm, halting him.  He raised his eyebrow in query.

“Just so you know and are prepared.”  She dropped her hand, sighing.  “He’s refused pain meds for the last several hours waiting for you.  I tried to get him to take some, even just a small dose, just to take the edge off and help him, but he refused.  Adamantly.  He wouldn’t tell me why.  Just kept saying he needed to have his wits about him.”  Joanna shook her head in fond exasperation, a few additional tears spilling.  “He’s still such a stubborn man sometimes.”

Spock felt a swell of tender affection, grateful that some things in the universe remained constant.  Even if it was the ever-present stubbornness of one Leonard H. McCoy.  However, refusal of his pain medications was unwise and not conducive to achieving a peaceful death.  There was no need to suffer.  Perhaps, now that Spock had arrived, he could convince Leonard to resume them.

“I have found ‘stubborn’ to be an extremely accurate observation.”

Joanna laughed, a sad smile crossing her features.  “You two, I swear.”  She shooed at him then.  “Go on in.  You know where to find him.”

Spock nodded slightly, and walked into the old house, past the formal receiving parlor and into the dining room.  Turning right, he traversed the few feet to a doorway, coming to a stop just outside the only downstairs bedroom.  Even without his Vulcan hearing, he would’ve been able to discern the labored breathing within. 

“Quit standin’ outside the door and come in,” Leonard griped.  “Before the damn grim reaper takes what’s left.”

Spock stepped quietly into the room.  McCoy was hooked to numerous machines and IVs.  He spared a brief glance at the biobed’s display.  Leonard’s blood pressure and core body temperature were already registering below normal human standards.  It would not be overly long before bodily functions ceased.

Leonard gasped, his body trembling and shuddering, while simultaneously, several biometric indicators spiked and screeched in warning.  Just as he felt the tremors had persisted too long, McCoy breathed deep, his body relaxing in the temporary respite. 

“Please sit here, Spock.”  McCoy patted the bed.  “I don’t have the strength to be loud, much less my normal, witty, and charming self.”  He chuckled softly.  “Not that those Vulcan ears ever missed much.”

Spock did as requested, gingerly placing himself next to Leonard.  For long moments, neither spoke, the silence growing, punctuated only by the occasional hiss and beep of various monitoring devices.

Leonard sighed in exasperation.  “You haven’t asked me why, Spock.  Why I called you here.  You know it wasn’t to watch me die.”

“I assumed you would tell me when you deemed it necessary.”

McCoy smiled, shaking his head.  “Ya know, Jim always said he never could decide which one of us was more stubborn.”  But Leonard’s smile quickly faded, replaced with a sadness that reflected in every wrinkle etched into his skin.  “I’m so sorry you had to lose him all over again.  All this time, he was alive, alive but alone.”  His voice dropped lower, filled with an emotion Spock could not name.  “He was right, you know.  We weren’t there when he died.  He always said he’d die alone.”

Spock squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to remain calm, to reinforce his shields and barricade himself against the tsunami of emotions associated with his husband, his mate, his _t’hy’la_.  Enduring Jim’s loss, not once, but twice, was beyond any pain Spock could have imagined.  It haunted him still.

Leonard’s voice was barely audible when he whispered, “I felt it that day.  And the first time too.  Your grief.  It was…overwhelmin’.”  His fists clenched, teeth gritted in disgust.  “And what kind of friend and doctor am I?  I couldn’t do a goddamn thing to save him, or keep you from experiencin’ it again.”

Spock opened his eyes, shaking his head as he gazed down at the man in earnest.  “It is not your – “

“The hell it is!” McCoy yelled.  His outburst immediately induced deep, wracking coughs.  Once his lungs spasms subsided, Leonard spoke again, his voice raw from the trauma.  “I’ve had a lot of time to think and I have a last request only you can fill.”

Spock’s eyebrow predictably raised.  “Indeed?”

Another wave of pain gripped Leonard’s body, the doctor’s hand tightly fisting the covers as he threw his head back, the tendons in his neck protruding starkly, skin stretched thin.  It took longer this time for the tremors to subside, for Leonard’s shallow breathing to calm, for him to regain enough presence to utter, “I want…I need you to…to take my memories of Jim.”

Spock visibly startled, shocked into stumbling over his words.  “I do not – what you ask is – it is...inadvisable.”

“Maybe.  But not impossible.”  Leonard drew a ragged breath.  “Just hear me out.  _Please_.”  He closed his eyes in supplication.  “I loved him, you know.  More than…”  Abruptly, Leonard fell silent.  But for the thudding of their hearts in an asynchronistic rhythm, the absence of noise was deafening.  “Just…more than.”  His blue eyes opened, piercing Spock with their intensity.  “We have this bond between us because I was able to give you back to Jim once.  This time, this way, I can give a piece of Jim back to you.”

Spock could not find the words to answer.  The constant bombardment against his shields, not only from Leonard, but his own reactions to such a request, left him temporarily stunned.  And without an immediate reply from Spock, Leonard continued his entreaty unimpeded.

“Please take them – the memories of him, of all of us.  Don’t let him die again with me.”  McCoy’s eyes turned hopeful as he asked, “And you can preserve them, can’t you?  In that Katric Arc on Vulcan?”

Spock merely nodded in response.  When he found his voice, it seemed foreign to him, laced with a heaviness he had hoped to never experience again.  “However, my katra will only be preserved if its knowledge is deemed worthy to do so.”

“You’re worthy, Spock.  Always have been.  Don’t doubt it, because I don’t.”  McCoy paused, winded from exertion.  “So, take them.  You can see his love for you through my eyes.”  He chuckled in amusement, wheezing as he did so.  “God, how you damn idiots pined.”

“Vulcan’s do not – “

“Can’t fool me with that line anymore.”  McCoy tapped his temple, eyebrows raised.  “This close, I can sense you more than you think.  Plus,” Leonard huffed, “I was there for almost all of it.”

Before Spock could reply, the body beside him tensed again, twisting and contorting, a surge of pain making arms shake and fists tighten.  “Spock…I can’t – .“  McCoy grimaced, his raspy, shallow breaths echoing.  “I don’t…have the strength…to do this here.  Help me do this.”

Spock acknowledged the request by laying one hand upon Leonard’s arm while the other lightly rested on his psi points.  Spock concentrated on the pain, dampening it, molding it, absorbing it.  He removed his hands, clasping them in his lap the moment he sensed it was enough, when the quivering muscles beneath his palm relaxed, the tension easing to more normal standards.

What he had done was not unheard of in Vulcan culture: to help the dying in their last moments, particularly when bonds – and death’s subsequent severing of them – were involved.  But that assistance was typically performed by experienced healers, and then only performed on Vulcans.  However, he could not deny desiring to do so.  He was confident in his telepathic skill, and he could ease Leonard’s pain, bring peace in his final moments; things that he had been unable to do for others he cared for in his life.

But that was not all that was being asked of him.  Spock considered Leonard’s primary request.   He had manipulated pathways in a mind to forget memories, forced a mind to relinquish sensitive data in order to save lives and an entire species, but he had never taken them, erasing them, and then subsequently attempt to absorb them into his mental landscape.

However, he was certain he need not take such drastic and potentially damaging measures.  He could provide solace without taking.  He could mind meld with Leonard, drawing up the memories, even those long buried and thought forgotten, and replay them within Leonard’s mind.  As they were viewed, Spock’s eidetic memory would permanently imprint them into his own mind.  Convinced this option would satisfy the request, he relayed the information to Leonard.

Fierce blue eyes turned, beseeching him.  “Then please, Spock.  Do it.  Before I’m too weak to consent.  Before I can’t refuse them.”

Them?  It hit Spock forcefully then, why McCoy had refused pain medications.  He had wanted to be mentally sound, to have his faculties unimpeded, and be fully able to consent to a mind meld.  The man was stubborn, indeed.  How much had Leonard needlessly suffered to ensure this moment?  But he would not suffer further, nor wait any longer.

“As you wish.”  Raising his right hand, he once again placed his fingers at Leonard’s psi points, this time pressing them more firmly as he spoke the words, “My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts.”

The meld was uncomplicated; the bond between them easing the meeting of their inner consciousnesses.  It had been many years since they last joined this way, but it was no less comforting to them both; McCoy freed of his physical maladies and Spock within a bond he had shared with Leonard for the last eighty-six years.

McCoy’s mind space and bonding center was a place of tranquil beauty.  They stood before a small copse of tall Georgia pines, their imposing figures shading them from the bright sun overhead.  Nestled amongst them:  a stand-alone bench swing.  It was particularly reminiscent of the one currently hanging from the front porch of the old farmhouse; it had served as a gathering place for times of quiet pensiveness for each of them, including Jim.

McCoy’s inhaled deeply, face upturned to the sky.  “It’s been a while since we’ve been here.”

“It has.”

“It’s silly, ya know,” McCoy mused, turning to look at Spock.  “Being a doctor, seein’ what I’ve seen.  I thought I wouldn’t be afraid when my time came.  But now that it’s here?”  He shrugged.  “I am.”

Spock spoke softly, but whether the words were an attempt to convince himself or McCoy, he couldn’t be certain.  “Fear of death is illogical.” 

Leonard lightly scoffed.  “Fear of death is what keeps us alive.”

Spock had no rebuttal, so he offered none.

“So, how does this work exactly?”

“It will take a few moments of preparation, and you might feel a pressure or discomfort as I probe your mind, but once acquired, the memories will manifest in a manner of your choosing, as is the prerogative within this space.”

Leonard gestured to the swing, “Well, let’s get cozy then, shall we?” 

They moved to the swing, sitting side-by-side.  A pleasant breeze blew, and McCoy sighed in relief, a mint julep manifesting in his hand.  He took a sip and raised the glass in a toast.  “Might as well enjoy what’s left.”

At least here, and with Spock’s help, Leonard was relaxed and comfortable.  Death, however, was disinclined to wait.  The ground beneath them rumbled in warning, the tremors rustling the pine needles above.

Leonard squinted up at the sky, noting the sun rapidly moving across it.  “Looks like we’d better get to it, Spock.  Don’t think I have much time left.”

Spock nodded and closed his eyes.  He delved into McCoy’s mind, searching for memories of Jim.  Spock found them easily.  It seemed the memories of Jim had left a unique thumbprint upon Leonard’s mind, a pattern exceedingly similar to memories of Jim within Spock’s own mind.  It seemed no matter the mind, Jim’s presence exuded a certain resonance, and much like the Terran sun, suffused memories with lingering impressions of brilliant intensity, soft radiance, and gentle, golden warmth.

Spock concentrated on finding and pulling the oldest memories.  They would be the hardest to access, and with McCoy’s rapid decline, it was logical to complete the most difficult work first.  He opened his eyes when he heard the first echoes of sound.  It seemed the mental construct Leonard had chosen was a holovid projection screen, only the memories replayed suspended in the sky, while the sun continued to sink lower.  The screen flickered and moved as each memory presented itself.  He and Leonard sat, watching and listening, as a lifetime touched by Jim’s presence passed by.

Leonard’s impressions and feelings, his spoken words, were the strongest.  His voice resonated above the others, sturdy and clear.

 

> _“Jim…you’re no different than anyone else.  We all have our darker side.  We need it!  It’s half of what we are.  It’s not ugly.  It’s human.”_
> 
> _“Jim!  You can’t risk your life on a theory!!”_
> 
> _“I can’t!  But to question Spock, of all people! Me?  Yes.  I could run off half-cocked given a good reason, so could you, but not Spock! It’s impossible.”_
> 
> _“What if you decide that he is Kodos?  What then?  Do you play God, carry his head through the corridors in triumph?  That won’t bring back the dead, Jim."_
> 
> _"In this galaxy, there's a mathematical probability of three million Earth-type planets.  And in all of the universe, three million million galaxies like this.  And in all of that, and perhaps more, only one of each of us.  Don't destroy the one named Kirk."_
> 
> _“Not Captain Kirk.  He’s not that kind of man.”_
> 
> _“You deliberately stopped me, Jim!  I could have saved her.  Do you know what you just did?”_
> 
> _“Captain, I understand your concern…your affection for Spock.”_
> 
> _“Mister Spock’s the best first officer in the fleet.”_
> 
> _“If you don’t get him to Vulcan within a week, eight days at the outside, he’ll die.  He’ll die, Jim!”_
> 
> _“Help me get him on the table.  Well, come on!  Help me get him on the table.  He’ll die without immediate treatment!”_
> 
> _“I can save his life.”_
> 
> _“I can’t let him die, Jim.  You get on to the transporter room.  I’ll be there in five minutes.”_
> 
> _“Good luck, Spock.”_
> 
> _“Jim, if you have the awareness to ask yourself that question, you don’t need me to answer it for you.  Why don’t you ask James T. Kirk?  He’s a pretty honest guy.”_
> 
> _“I know, I’m worried about Jim too.”_
> 
> _“I…I know it’s nothing you’ve done, Spock.  I…I’m sorry.”_
> 
> _“Welcome home, Jim”_
> 
> _“Stop it!! Don’t do this to him, Parmen.  He’s a Vulcan!  You can’t force emotion out of him!  It could destroy him!”_
> 
> _“Not this time, Spock.”_
> 
> _“Don’t let her touch me!  She’ll die, Jim.  I can’t destroy life, even if it’s to save my own.  I can’t.  You know that.  I can’t let you do it.”_
> 
> _“Because you’ll never know the things that love can drive a man to: the ecstasies, the miseries, the broken rules, the desperate chances, the glorious failures and the glorious victories.”_
> 
> _“In simpler terms, Captain, they drafted me!”_
> 
> _“Well, so help me.  I’m actually glad to see you.”_
> 
> _“Spock.  Are you saying you found what you needed?”_
> 
> _“It’s too late.”_
> 
> _“He’s not really dead.  As long as we remember him.”_
> 
> _“What you had to do.  What you always do.  Turn death into a fighting chance to live.”_
> 
> _“I’m gonna tell you something that I…never thought I’d hear myself say.  But, it seems I’ve missed you.  And I don’t know if I could stand to lose you again.”_
> 
> _“All that time in space, gettin’ on each other’s nerves.  And what do we do when shore leave comes along?  We spend it together.  Other people have families.”_
> 
> _“I thought you said men like us don’t have families?”_

 

The echo of Jim’s “I was wrong,” stayed long after the last of the images, the last memories touched by Jim’s living presence, faded. 

From Leonard’s point of view, Spock had experienced and relived their lives; only now, they were a part of him, forever comingled and intertwined amongst his own memories.

Dusk had come and gone while the moments played out, the encroaching twilight signaling McCoy’s own.  Leonard was drifting, exhausted by the mental strain, compounded by the failing of his physical body.  He was currently leaned against Spock, his head resting gently against Spock’s arm.  Delicately extricating himself, Spock stood, cradling Leonard’s head as he did so.  He laid him down on the swing as the breeze shifted and the air grew heavy, oppressive, and stale.  Again, the ground quaked, longer and with more fervor, the trees creaking with tension. 

Lashed fluttered open, and once vibrant blues eyes, now hazy and greying, stared up at him.  “I am sorry, Spock.  For doin’ and sayin’ things that hurt you.  And for now.  For leavin’ you, too.”  Leonard sighed heavily.  “You deserved more.  So did he.”

“I am grateful for all that I have had.  I cannot regret it.”  His own thoughts surged unbidden, drifting within the meld.  He was under too much mental and emotional distress to stop the echo of Jim’s voice reciting Tennyson: “ _Tis better to have…”_

“Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?”  McCoy’s voice was threadbare and raspy.

Spock could only utter a pained, “ _Yes_.”

“He’d want you to keep going.  Never…never did like givin’ up.”  McCoy’s breath shuttered.  “Don’t give up, Spock.”  Leonard’s eyelids grew heavy, closing once more.  “I think it’s time.  I…I want…I need to tell you.  All those discussions we had over all these years…I hope my respect for you was clear.  Spock, I –”

“It is unnecessary, Leonard.  You do not have to say it.”  Spock could feel their bond, his last, tugging and twisting, straining under the weight.  “ _Ki-nam-tor kwon-sum ashtaluhk na’nash-veh.” (You have always been dear to me.)_

Spock watched as a single tear escaped, disappearing into thinning white hair.  “You too, Spock.  You too.” 

Meanwhile, the pitch outside had turned black, the invading darkness hampering Spock’s ability to see.  He felt it then, as his shields failed, the pressure and pain mounting as their bond began to unravel, small strands fraying and snapping.  Death was imminent.  Spock needed to leave or he risked being caught in the maelstrom as Leonard’s body and mind shut down.  He quickly began to gather himself, preparing his mind to disengage from the meld.  “Leonard, I must depart now.  I cannot stay any longer.”

McCoy hummed in acknowledgement, turning his body slightly towards Spock.  He struggled to lift his left hand, trembling as he stuck his thumb out, his other four fingers remaining tightly together.  Using his other hand, he forced his middle and ring fingers to part, raising his hand shakily in the _ta’al._   “Live long and prosper, Spock.”

Spock returned the gesture, altering the customary reply to tenderly whisper, “Peace, Leonard.”

He came out of the meld gasping as the bond ruptured, fracturing in two; his last connection to another severed.  Spock was overwhelmed and overcome.  His senses slowly came to, registering in waves what was transpiring around him.  He winced.  The first assault against his senses were the biobed indicators shrieking in warning.  He then noticed Joanna on her father’s other side, openly weeping, with Leonard’s lifeless hand clutched tight in her own.  She glanced at him, her eye’s red and puffy.

“Thank you, Uncle Spock.  For coming.  For making his last moments peaceful.”

Spock could only incline his head in recognition of her words, the burden of all that had transpired stunting his ability to verbally respond.  In delayed recognition, he realized his left hand was clutching his chest, the trinket grasped so tightly, he knew its impression in his palm would linger.

He made to stand, but faltered, his entire body exhausted from the mental and physical strain.  He left the room and proceeded to the parlor, attempting to sit, but collapsing instead in the oversized chair.  He could not accurately gauge how much time had passed, nor how much time would be required to bring his body and mind back under control.  However, he knew there was no passage of time that could dull the experience of being with Leonard in his final moments.

~~~~

Spock left the house sometime later, once he had meditated and centered the disquiet within his mind, but had he ever thought his existence isolated, when he once believed that he was accepted as neither Vulcan nor human, the world was ever lonelier now without a single connection to ground him.  All those he cherished, lost to life’s inevitable end.

The best he could do, could endeavor for in his remaining years, was to continue the work the Enterprise crew started over one hundred years ago: contribute what he could to the betterment of all societies, much as he had attempted to these past years on Romulus.  This was the best use, the most logical course for his life.  Indeed, logic was all he had left to give; all the parts of his heart and soul having been taken long ago.

Perhaps, one day, when his many years came at last to an end, he would be reunited with all those he cherished; see them again in their prime, young and vibrant, ready to change the universe.  It was a foolish thought, no more than a child’s wistful hope, but he could not deny the longing in his soul. 

In their lives, whenever times became dire, when war ravaged, when discrimination or hatred reared, when death took those whose lives had yet to fully bloom, when life’s outlook seemed bleak, Jim was often found smiling gently and saying, “we must hold out to hope, for ‘to live without hope, is to cease to live.’”

And so, in deference, he would continue to hope – foster it, maintain it, nurture it – and live.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and giving this one a chance.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> Although I can’t say for certain, I’m sure this story was born out of my losses this year and stress/anxiety/depression and a whole heap of other things that have made me reevaluate what defines my happiness and what that is really worth, when weighed against the reality that life is short and nothing is guaranteed.
> 
> There are so many quotes and references in this one, that I can't list them all. But there is a lot of Star Trek (original series and original series movies, Next Generation series and *that* one movie, and ST:Beyond), Tennyson (directly referenced) and Dostoyevsky (to live without hope, is to cease to live).
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, nor am I profiting from this in any way. I am merely playing with the character's for enjoyment's sake.


End file.
